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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

i^ap..— i- ©npj|rigi^i !f o.— 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CHRISTMASTIDE 



DREAM-VISIONS 



OF 



CHRISTMASTIDE 



JOSEPH MATTHIAS JONES 




(^^lyiJi^-'^ 



" Memory of the far-gone years hath bloavn 
upon me like the breath of passion, and sailed 
me into a sea op vast dreams, whereby each 
wave is at once a vision and a melody." 



Tv 



CoPYRKfHT, 1894, 

BY 

JOSP]PH MATTHIAS JONES. 



The moss-stained marble rests 
O'er the lips my lips pressed 

In their bloom ; 
And the names I loved to hear 
Have been carved for manj' a year 

On the tomb." 



Consecration 

GRATEFUL FOR ALL THY TENDER 
MINISTRY TO ME, IN SHADE AND SHINE, 
IN GRIEF AND GLADNESS, I CONSE- 
CRATE THES-E LEAVES WITH TEARS; 
ENTWINE THEM WITH LILIES FROM 
THE GARDEN OF MY GRATITUDE, AND 
LOVINGLY SING TO THEE, "SWEET 
PRINCE OF PEACE. 



(Ef^ristmastibc. 



Dreaming, we float on Memory's 
wings to realms of far-gone years. 

Voice after voice ; vision after 

vision pass before us. Softly the 

dusk falls ; night crowds on us ; 

the fire-glow fades to dull, gray 

ashes : curtains are drawn ; the bed 



10 Cbristjnastibe. 

invites; sleep gently tips eyelids 
and wooes to rest— and to dreams. 

Between the eveningtide and the 
morningtide one traveler has invaded 
the homes of Christendom. Ah, 
Santa, thou art a generous Prince, 
for thy trade is to give and make 
happy. May thy smiling face never 
grow older ; thy snowy beard less 
glossy ; thy fat hands less cunning; 



(£t^ristma5ttbe. 11 

thy storehouse less full. May thy 
whip have a golden stock and a silk- 
en lash to speed thy gallant reindeer 
to expectant hearts. We see thy 
form and face only through the 
dream shadows, but we hear the 
echoes of thy sleigh and the merry 
song of thy bells, and the old feel 
young again, the strong stronger 
still, and childhood leaps for joy. 



12 Cl^ristmastibe. 

Thy coming makes this the day of 
days for the young ; the time when 
they taste the sweetest sweets of 
all the year. 

A Dream Vision rises, and we are 
borne back through the dead cen- 
turies. A star has risen and its 
wondrous hght floods the land. 
The wise men catch its beams and 
quickly mount and speed over the 



Ct^nstmastibe. 13 

Syrian plain. Awe- struck and silent 
they journey through the still hours 
of the night, with eyes fixed on the 
star whose light paints in colors of 
ravishing beauty the fair face of the 
gentle Virgin-Mother, on whose blue 
veined, lily-white bosom nestles The 
Babe. 

Another Dream-Vision bears us to 
the Christmastides of the long-ago. 



14 (Il^ristmastibe. 

ere youth had closed his golden door 
— the time when " we waded knee- 
deep in the stream of Memory that 
flowed from the land of youth— 
when the prophet-dreams of youth 
sang- only of joy and victory." The 
firelight flings quivering warmth 
about our chamber, and in pensive, 
saddened mood we recall the van- 
ished past. We enter the old home 



dl^ristmastibe. 15 

— now, alas ! crumbling to decay 
and the home of strangers — where 
we companied with adored ones 
whose voices have long been hushed 
in dreamless sleep O ! the charms 
of that home, and the tenderness of 
alTection that were ours in "the days 
that are no more." Again we sip 
sweets from lips and feel the warm 
embrace of those who were the 



16 dl^rtstmastibc. 

idols of our hearts. We stand once 
more in the hallowed shrine— the 
mother's room—and suspended from 
the mantelpiece over the dear old 
fireplace — the bright wood fire gave 
out its soft glow and comfort in 
those faraway sweet, sweet days — 
we see the row of stockings, and 
then we catch the echoes of shout 
and laugh of little brothers and sis- 



(£l]ristmastibc. 1'7 

ters as they tumble rosy and happy 
out of bed ; and then a mist gathers 
upon our eyes to blur the vision as 
we remember that some of those 
precious little ones were taken from 
our home, and our broken hearts by 
the call of the Ghristmas-Born, and 
are sleeping yonder in the Voiceless 
City. If, then, our hearts be sad- 
dened by the remembrance of the 



18 (£t]n5tmastibe. 

vanished days that were fraught 
with melancholy partines, they are 
also softened and purified, and all 
coldness and selfishness are banished 
from our thoughts on this holy 
Christmas day. Pity and compas- 
sion — sweet and gentle graces — reign 
supreme, while Charity stands erect 
in peerless beauty, with no stain 
upon her spotless robes, and we bend 



dl^ristmastibe. 19 

to her beneficent commands ; queen 
of graces, linking the heart of Him 
the Good to the heart of Man the 
Generous. To-day we are lost to 
self, and forget our own deep griefs 
and find our chiefest happiness in 
ministering to those more wretched 
than ourselves. " We feel the sense 
of obligation and of wrong— pity 
for those who toil and weep— tears 



20 (£t]ristmastibc. 

for the imprisoned and despised — 
love for the noble living--reverence 
for the generous dead — and in heart 
the rapture of a high resolve." 

The Voice a.eain sings to the heart 
bidding a remembrance that the 
year now nearing its close has been 
rough to many ; the sky of hope 
obscured ; the soul's light clouded 
by. bitter griefs. Then we catch the 



€l]ri5tma5tibc. ?1 

soft notes of His voice— "Be mer- 
ciful," and we turn with succoring 
hand, and cheery voice, and sunny 
smile to His desolate ones ; to the 
widow in her abode of poverty, 
with the shadow of despair her 
constant companion ; to the man 
once vigorous, now wasting under 
fatal malady, with no ray of hope 
to cheer his path to the tomb ; to 



22 (£l]rislnia5tibe. 

the crippled child — ah this is the sad 
picture — lying in orphan ward of 
hospital, about whose pale, sweet 
face few smiles have played, yet 
beautiful withal, the Great Artist 
having tinted that face with the 
supreme touch that melts and wins 
the beholder's heart — Innocence. We 
look through tears upon the little 
sufferer — august in her purity and 



dl^ristmastibe. 23 

helplessness — with tenderest com- 
passion. "What hand but would 
a loving- garland cull for one so 
frail and beautiful." 

On this holy day the Voice bids 
us comfort and cheer those bending 
under the stroke of some great 
agony. " While we may not drown 
grief in oblivion, we can dignify it 
by hope ; while we may not calm 



24 Cbrtstmasttbe. 

the despairing soul by pointing it 
down to the grave of resignation, 
we can turn it from the darkness of 
the tomb to the brightness of the 
stars." 

" He who has not felt in his soul 
the strong throbs of Love and Grief, 
and has not seen the things of this 
life, and read the hearts of men and 
women by this double light, has seen 



Ct^ristmasttbc. 25 

but little, and knows but little of the 
human heart." 

To-day we recall those in homes 
where sunbeams enter not ; a noble 
father agonizes over his wayward, 
wandering :ion ; a sweet and loving 
mother mourns a once pure and 
aflfectionate daughter— now lost in 
the city's dens of shame. Their 
wretchedness being all the more 



26 Ct^rtstmastibc. 

intensified as they see smiles and 
happiness in other homes ; and as 
these broken-hearted ones move in 
loneliness of soul, Compassion turns 
us to weep with them — what more 
can we do ? 

" Touched by Compassion's hand, the wayside weed 
Becomes a fragrant flower! the lowliest reed 

Beside the stream is clothed with beauty. 
It sings of love, its flame illumes 
The darkest of lone cottage rooms." 

And thus the Dream-Visions and 



Cl^ristmasttbc. ?7 

Dream-Voices come to us, on the 
day fraught with so much mingled 
joy and sorrow, sunshine and shad- 
ow ; we bow in mournful revery — 
for our thoughts are of our scattered 
living and our gathered dead — and 
then a stir in the graveyard of 
Memory, the slumbering thoughts 
rise ngain, and the full omnipotence 
of affection returns to the heart and 



28 Ct^ristmastibc. 

streams out from the beautiful faces 
of those we loved — and have lost 
awhile. The one supreme and beau- 
teous face that rises out of the crys- 
tal depths of Memory, before which 
we linger with rapturous joy and 
sadness, the face of the one of all 
the world the sweetest and best 
beloved, is that of the patient and 
gentle mother, who watched our 



dbnstmastibe. 29 

babyhood and childhood and youth 
with angehc tenderness, and from 
the far-away Valley of Bliss float to 
us the echoes of her voice, in mel- 
ody sweeter than the sweetest carol 
of bird, and as we look up toward 
the Celestial Country, her brig-ht 
home, and ours to be, we recall her 
radiant presence as she moved 
among us, and wonder how it was 



30 df^ristmastibe. 

possible for us to have survived our 
grief when she said her last farewell 
and took her flight ; and then 
" through the hallowed glory of the 
past more precious seems that face, 
more beautiful, more divinely fair, 
as we decay, as we grow old, more 
dearly loved for the tender memories 
it brings." Once more we see the 
form and face of the venerable 



Ct]rislmasttbe. 31 

father who wrought for us in his 
days of manly vigor ; and now there 
troop before us a cluster of darUng 
Utile ones, brothers and sisters, with 
whom we walked in the cool of the 
evening of life's early dawn. Another 
picture of noble beauty and dignity 
rises in view — the sweet faced be- 
loved old grandmother, sitting in 
the corner of the old family room. 



32 dl^nstmastibe. 

O ! the voices crowd upon us, 
some echoing happy marriage bells, 
others the mournful funeral dirge. 
Only at Christmastide do we hold 
the talisman which brings the per- 
ished years back to us ; then it is 
we remember the sweets and bless- 
ings of life, and we strive to banish 
sad thoughts as our lips move in 
prayer — we pour out our gratitude 



Cbnstmastibe. 33 

to the Great Giver for the gift of 
Christian parents, a Christian home, 
and many Christian friends ; nor do 
we forget to fervently plead for all 
mankind — that He will send the 
Christian teacher to the whole hu- 
man race to tell of the gentle 
Nazarene. ' 

in the town, as in the country, this 
holy day flings beams of gladness. 



34 (£t^ritsmastibe. 

The first snowflake falls, then others, 
and soon the earth turns white. The 
jingle of sleigh bells cuts through 
the frosty air ; merry notes ring out 
from pedestrians hurrying along the 
streets, bearing beautiful things for 
loved ones at home. The bright 
green Christmas tree is planted in 
the biggest room, and it yields a 
wonderful harvest for the little folk 



dt^ristmastibe. 35 

in a single night. In the country 
home are gathered the kin of gener- 
ations — ah, what picture so lovely as 
thr.t of the Christmas reunion in the 
old country home ! The big wood 
fire burns with a proud and con- 
scious glow, as it flings a light soft 
as a dream of peace about the forms 
and faces gathered there. The rooms 
and halls are gracefully festooned 



35 dtjristmasti&e. 

with masses of evergreen and holly 
bright with berries ; whiie roses and 
violets fill the air with grateful odors; 
then come apples and nuts and 
sparkling cider — brewed from blush- 
ing and golden fruit from the old 
orchard ; faces glow ; hearts are 
happy ; the wild racket of the little 
ones makes the walls ring again ; 
story-telling follows, and from the 



€l]nstma5tibc. 37 

lips of the patriarch of this happy 
circle comes a story whose sweet 
lesson touches every heart : 

The Beautiful Hand. 
There was a dispute among three 
ladies as to wliich had the most beau- 
tiful hand. One sat by a stream and 
dipped her hand into the water and 
lield it up ; another plucked strawber- 
ries until the ends of her fingers were 
pink ; and another gathered violets 



38 dbnstmastibc. 

until her hands were fragrant. An old 

and haggard woman passing by, asked : 

" Who will give me a gift, for I am 



poor?" 



All three denied her ; but another 
who sat near, unwashed in the stream, 
unstained with fruit, unadorned with 
flowers, gave her a little gift, and satis- 
fied the poor woman. And then she 
asked them what was the dispute. They 
told her, and lifted up before her 
their beautiful hands. 



dbristmastibe. 39 

"Beautiful, indeed," said slie when 
she saw tliem. But when they asked 
her which was the most beautiful, she 
said : 

''It is not tlie hand that is waslied 
in the brook ; it is not the hand that is 
tipped witli red ; it is not the hand 
that is garlanded with fragrant flowers 
— but the hand that gives to the poor 
is the most beautiful ! " 

As she said these words her wrinkles 
fled, her staff was thrown away, and 



40 Ct^ristmastibe. 

she stood before them an angel from 
heaven, with authority to decide the 
question in dispute . And that decis- 
ion has stood the test of all time. 

Outside the wind howls and sends 
the snow in drifts against the win- 
dow panes ; the cattle are snugly 
housed ; the rabbits are warm under 
the bushes ; the birds are sheltered 
under the eaves of the barn ; and 



dt^nstmastibe. 41 

SO, without and within the old coun- 
try home all is joy and peace and 
comfort. 

Once more the echoes of Christ- 
mastide come to us from a city 
vision, and His sweet and pleading 
voice is heard: 

" There is a doorway in a narrow street, 
And close beside that door a broken stair, 
And tlien a low, dark room ; 
The room is bare, 
But in a corner lies 



42 dbristmastibc. 

A worn-ovit form upon a hard straw bed — 
No pillow underneath the aching head— 
A face grown wan with suffering, and a hand 
Scarce strong enough to reach the small dry crust 
That lies upon the chair. 
Go in, for I am there; 
I have been waiting wearily in that cold room- 
Waiting long, lonely hours- 
Waiting for thee to come 
And minister to my suffering one." 

And now we catch another Dream 
Voice which whispers of our failures 
and our triumphs in life ; of words 
and acts of ours that gave pain to 



(£t]ristmasttbe. 43 

others, and we beg our Father to 
pardon us and to heal the wounds 
we made ; we recall words and acts 
of others that put sorrow in our 
heart, and we invoke a Father's 
blessing- upon them, and beg- Him to 
forgive them and give us back their 
friendship and their love. We re- 
member—remember but to bless— 
those who came to us with loving 



44 'Ibrtstmastibe. 

succor when pain and ^nci swept 
their billows over us. We also see 
rising before us the sad eyes, patient 
faces, wasting forms, of those to 
whom we gave the soft word, the 
tender touch, the sunny smile, the 
cup of strength, when their griefs 
bore heaviest ; and then we resolve 
to succor and cheer other sutTering, 
burdened souls — " not to keep the 



(£t]ri5tma5til>c. 45 

alabaster box of love and tender- 
ness sealed up until our friends are 
dead, but to put some sweetness in 
their lives ; to speak the cheering 
words while their ears can hear 
them, that their hearts can be 
thrilled and made happy by them ; 
the kind thin^^s we are wont to say 
when they are dead and gone we 
we will say now, before they go; the 



46 Ct^ristmasttbc. 

flowers we mean to send to their 
coffins we will send now, to 
brighten and scenten their homes 
before they leave them — that they 
may behold their beauty and inhale 
their fragrance, remembering that 
flowers on the coffin are but seen by 
the living, their perfume only grate- 
ful to the living, that they put no 
sweetness in the nostrils of the dead.'' 



(Ebnstmastibe. 47 

" We wound the living heart, yet clip the briers 
From roses that we lay in pulseless hands; 
We build for frozen hearts our tardy fires, 

And pour love's ehaliee upon graveyard sands." 

Still dreaming, I was borne to a 
palatial home. It was the sweet 
spring-time, and without nature 
spread her beauties and her glories. 
Tender, plaintive notes of forest 
warblers quivered on the golden air. 
Within, wealth and culture graced 



48 Cbristmastibc. 

with art's choicest treasures; through 
stained windows streamed a mellow 
light, while sweetest and fairest 
flowers lent wondrous beauty and 
fragrance to the scene, in a costly 
casket, embellished with solid silver 
trappings, lay one that had just 
reached manhood's proudest stage ; 
who had quaiTed deeply at the 
world's fountain of pleasures and 



dbnstmasttbc. 49 

defilements ; reared in a home of 
luxury by those who valued the 
glittering- things of time above the 
fadeless things of eternity. As 1 
looked upon the frozen face, classic 
in its manly beauty, 1 heard a cry 
that chilled my blood, such a cry as 
can come alone from a heart tortured 
by remorse and bereft of hope, and 
then turned and met the glare of a 



to (It]ri5tmastibc. 

woman's eye — the proud and worldly 
mother of the dead — and as 1 stood 
under the shadow of the saddened 
scene, in the presence of the mated 
mysteries, Life and Death, there 
swept athwart the chamber in letters 
black as the raven's wing the appall- 
ing sentence — 

Died without Hope— Lost! 
— and as these words vanished from 



Cl^nstmastibe. 51 

my view, there smote upon my ear 
the mournful toll of distant bell, and 
then a darkness, dense and awful, 
drowned my vision and my dream. 

Again I dreamed and was borne to 
a modest cottage home, whose hum- 
ble dwellers had often felt the pinch 
of poverty. Without, the air was 
laden with fragrance of simple 
flowers, and doors and windows 



-2 Cl^ristmasttbc. 

wreathed with traihng vines. With- 
in, all was plain, but clean and sweet. 
Death had entered here, and in a 
wooden coffin lay a manly youth, the 
seal of peaceful repose stamped upon 
his marble face. As 1 stood in the 
shaded light of this hushed and sol- 
emn scene, my ear caught a woman's 
soft, low cry — the cry of the gentle 
Christian mother of the dead — and 



(£l^nstmastibc. 53 

as I met her gaze I read in eye and 
on face that sorrow's wound had 
been touched with heaHng by the 
Master's hand ; and then, in letters 
of radiant Hght, there moved across 
the room the words of comfort — 
Died in the Faith— Saved ! 
— and from the old church over the 
way there came strains of triumph- 
ant song, and there above the dark- 



54 (£l]ristmastibe. 

ness of the dead shone Hope's bright 
star, and then I awoke to find my 
chamber suffused with soft beams of 
the morning sun. 

Back of the hand that writes these 
Hues Hes a heart that throbs in tender, 
loyal love for childhood and youth. 
As 1 stand in the mellow autumn of 
my life, at that hour " When night is 
not yet, and day is no more," and 



€t]ristmasttbc. 55 

look back over the traveled way, 
recounting the history of one sad 
and suffering heart, and there come 
in review before tear-blurred eyes 
the multiform scenes in the pilgrim- 
age of one wan and weary life; scenes 
at once the saddest and sweetest; the 
most joyous and the most mournful; 
and remember what childhood and 
youth must encounter as the years 



56 dl^ristmastibc. 

crowd on toward manhood — much, 
oh, so much, that will wring" tears 
from the eye, and pierce the soul 
with agony— the warmest compas- 
sion of my heart sweeps to you in 
flood- tide fullness, oh, innocent and 
adorable childhood. Would that 1 
could compass you as with a shield, 
and hedge you from the dangers and 
impurities that will woo you from 



(£bnstma$tibe. 57 

duty's path. Would that 1 might 
impress you with the truth — The 
cleaner the Hving the braver the 
heart, the braver the heart the nobler 
the life, the nobler the life the whiter 
the soul, the whiter the soul the more 
peaceful the end when the curtain 
rolls down for the last time on earth. 
Another Vision rises, and we are 
carried back through the ages to a 



w8 dbristmasttbe. 

scene of barbarous cruelty and Chris- 
tian martyrdom. Imperial Rome hns 
turned her populace to the Colos- 
seum, which stands in its pristine 
splendor. Pillars and arches of the 
mighty structure are adorned with 
rich colors of the Orient; the cope of 
the balustrade mounted with parian 
and bronze statues of rulers, philoso- 
phers, warriors, poets, orators and 



dbristmastibe. 59 

masters of art. Richly embroidered 
awnino:s protect the royal quarters 
from the mid-day heat; burnished 
shields and spears of warrior legions 
reflect back the brilliant light, and 
golden eagles, kissed by the soft 
Italian sun, are borne aloft like glories 
in the air. A Christian convert, a 
Greek maiden, torn from her home 
by Rome's mail-clad hand, enters 



60 Ctiristmastibe. 

the arena. Against her pearl-white 
brow tenderly beats the breath of the 
Eternal Morning. Her clear eye of 
faith penetrates the veil and catches 
a glimpse of the green pastures and 
still waters in the land of Jerusalem 
the Golden. 

Modest, yet courageous, supported 
by a strength born of saintly devo- 
tion, she presents a picture of classic 



dt^ristmastibe. 61 

and pathetic beauty, ready to yield 
her sweet young" Hfe, that she may 
proclaim her love for Him who lay 
in Bethlehem's Manger. Bolts are 
thrown back, a trumpet signals, and 
with hungry growl the wild beasts 
spring in; flesh is mangled, blood 
flows, bones are crushed, and a pure 
soul is white-winged for flight to 
Paradise. 



62 (£t]ristmastibe. 

We marvel — and pity as we mar- 
vel — that any can refuse belief in 
Him for whom the gentle maiden 
died. We wonder how any human 
heart can fix its faith and affection 
solely on finite things in a world that 
contains no satisfying portion for the 
soul; where the blighting forces of 
sin touch but to consume. The Voice 
whispers that when the body and 



dbnstmastibc. 63 

soul come to part company at the 
portal of the tomb, happy only will 
be he who has anchored his hope on 
the Great Martyr; whose riches 
await him in the Celestial Beyond. 
Only such a one will find cheer in 
the hour when he draws nearer and 
nearer to the calm Sea of Eternity. 
The Voice sings of a purer, gladder 
stream than any that flows from the 



64 (£t]n'=.tmastibe. 

fountain source of wealth and honors 
and the fading things of earth — a 
stream that rises in the soul of Faith 
and glides gently on to Heaven's 
Crystal Waters. 

And now, as we sit alone in our 
silent chamber, the fire glow grows 
paler and paler and then fades away; 
the faithful old clock ticks measure- 
ment to the fast dying hours of 



€l]nstma5ti(>c. 65 

the blessed Christmastide; Memory 
weaves the tangled threads of the 
past into dream-pictures; the perished 
years float back to us, freighted with 
the dark and the bright, the visions 
and voices grow sadder and sweeter, 

and more ineflfably tender and radiant 
and holy; before our sweeping and 
earnest gaze lies spread out the wide 
domain of all our wanderings, from 



66 Cl]nstmasttbe. 

the warm white dawn of the morii- 
ingtide — the sun kissing the silken 
curls of childhood, to the gray dusk 
of eventide — the shadows of night 
falling over the silver locks of age. 
With loving gratitude we remem- 
ber the countless blessings which 
have come to us from the Father's 
hand; First and before all and above 
all, the holy, gentle child of His heart; 



(Ibnstmastibe. 67 

He whose coming made human Hfe 
and Hberty securer; the home-Hfe 
dearer and sweeter; the hearts of men 
and women purer, truer, braver; the 
star of hope shine brighter. 

The wonderful depths of motherly 
love; the marvelous sweetness uf 
wifely devotion; the fragrant kiss of 
the little child and the little child's 
h^ppy prattle; the entrancing beau- 



68 Cl^ristmastibe. 

ties of nature — her peaceful valleys, 
quiet woodlands, lofty mountains, 
crystal waters, the fresh green of 
spring, the rich glories of summer, 
the mellow splendors of autumn, the 
joys of winter's Christmas cheer; 
the journeys made amid scenes of ex- 
ceeding beauty by day and under 
glories of bending skies by night; 
the enchantments of literature, and 



(Il]nstma3tibc. 69 

music, and art; the thrill of ecstas}^ 
born of the friendship of the good 
and true, the brave and noble among 
men and women: If these be links 
in the chain that binds us to this life, 
making it sweet betimes, how often 
have the links been torn asunder 
and the chain lain broken at our feet! 
Mournfully we recall the rugged 
steps and thorny paths; the weary 



70 (Ibristmastibe. 

marches through stress and storm, 
sacrifice and pain; ceaseless toil 
palsying* and numbing the hand's 
cunning-, and g"rief's tears burning 
and dimming the eye's vision; the 
hurtling thrusts of the blade of ad- 
versity; the combats with manifold 
temptations; the cruel frown of the 
friend who counted our thoughtless 
error of the head as an intentional 



dbnstmastibc. 71 

wrong of the heart; the temples of sad- 
ness entered through portals draped 
with mourning; the fountain of tears 
in which we bathed; the frosts that 
fell about our home, chilling the 
tender bud and withering the lovely 
flower— sealing the lips of the child 
and closing the eyes of the mother, 
leaving us alone in the dark chamber 
with silence and with death, and our 



72 (Et^ristmastibc. 

desolate soul to wander ever after 
through rayless night. 

With the shadows growing 
more ominous as the years crowd 
on, the lonely soul crying out 
"Why linger amid the glooms 
here, when splendid lights invite 
you yonder ? " the eye looks 
through the window of its 
Faith, toward the home where 



dbnstmastibe. 73 

the dew of youth ever Hngers 
on the cheek ; the radiance of 
immortaHty h'ghts the brow; where 
tears are unknown ; where no blur 
falls on the rose, no blight on 
the lily, no chill deadens the vio- 
let's perfume ; where strife and 
wrath, pain nor sickness ever 
come; where no hurtful thing 
ever enters; where voices are for- 



74 'Ibristmastibc. 

ever sweet and faces forever fair; 
where the touch of imperishable 
loveliness rests upon all. 

Being hard pressed in the battle, 
wan and weary, tired of feet and 
wounded in heart, storm-tossed and 
far from home, with earth's stains 
upon our garments and its sorrows 
surging" to our soul, we yearn for the 
White Land of Peace, where we may 



(Jlbnstmasttbe. 75 

look into those tender eyes that 
closed on the cross; lay our tired 
hand in the dear hand that was 
pierced for us ; listen to the melody 
of that voice that echoed charity, 
compassion, healing and peace 
through the valleys, across the 
plains, over the hills and across 
the waters of Palestine ; and there 
join the loved of our heart, and 



76 dt^ristmastibc. 

hand in hand with them, wander 
along the quiet waters, and through 
the perfumed pastures as long as 
eternity, resting, betimes, beneath 
the soft shade of the Tree of Life, 
and find that tranquil repose for the 
soul we here have sought for, striven 
for, yearned for in vain ; and as the 
Dream takes wing and bears us 
toward white hands that are seen 



Ct^vistmastibe. 77 

beckoning us home, our listening 
ears catch words, in accents of 
melting tenderness, 

"Sad and Weary of Earth 
Come To Me and Rest." 

As the echos of these restful, 
comforting words die softly away, 
my dream is broken, and 1 awake 
to meet a flood of golden light 



78 Ct]ristmastibe. 

that flashes across the snow-drifts, 
through my window, into my 
chamber, and behold it is 

Christmas Morning. 



TO THEE, 
O SWEET READER. 
I REVEAL THE SECRETS OF 
MY HEART- 
ITS SADNESS, ITS LONGINGS AND ITS FAITH. 
I AM THY FRIEND ! 
ART THOU MY FRIEND? 
IF THOU ART 
GENTLY I LAY MY HAND IN THY HAND, 
POUR THE LOVE OF MY HEART 
INTO THY HEART, 
AND TENDERLY BID THEE 
FAREWELL. 



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